


Pretending

by SWP_Plus



Category: Trigun
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, dear god the angst, smut with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10889097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWP_Plus/pseuds/SWP_Plus
Summary: When Vash finally tells Meryl the truth about who—and what—he is, she knows she can never have what she wants. But, at least for a little while, they try to pretend she can.





	Pretending

After the preacher died, Milly went home. When Meryl wouldn't leave, Vash told her everything. She listened without interrupting, without questioning, feeling cold dread knotting tightly in the pit of her stomach with his every word. Each sentence stripped away more of everything she thought she knew; about him, about the world, and about what she might have hoped for the future.

She had learned she was in love with a man who didn't really exist, told so by the man who wore his face and wasn't quite _him._

Guilt gnawed at her when she realized how selfish it was to linger on that thought, in the face of everything Vash was confiding in her. His past, his sins, what lay ahead and why she couldn't follow this time.

Meryl wondered if he had seen the disappointment in her eyes anyway, because he sat next to her and took her hands in his. When he reached up to touch her face she had closed her eyes to keep him from seeing tears. Some rolled down her cheeks anyway and for just an instant she fell apart, giving one choked sob as her face crumpled under his fingers.

Vash had wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I wish things were different," he whispered. "I really do..."

She clung to him for a long time, but eventually Meryl managed to compose herself. When she drew back her eyes were dry and her voice was even.

"They could be," she had offered, sounding braver than she felt. "Just for a little while. Just for the night. We could be anybody..."

Meryl wasn't sure what she had seen in his eyes then, because somehow it looked like it took a lot of effort for him just to nod and say, "Okay. Sure."

Now she sat at the bar downstairs in a dress she had never had the courage to wear, nursing a few fingers of whiskey, wondering if this was really what she wanted.

_Of course it's not._

She wondered if it would be worth it anyway. She wondered if she should just run, before it was too late. But then he was coming down the stairs in one of Wolfwood's ill-fitting suits and for an instant Meryl's heart was ripped apart to see Vash looking so strange and alien, wrapped in the costume shroud of a dead man's clothes.

She turned quickly back to the bar and downed the whiskey in one gulp, catching the bartender's attention to order another.

Vash sat next to her a moment later, but she couldn't look him in the eye. Not yet.

"Her drink's on me," he said after a moment, and in her peripheral vision Meryl saw him hook a thumb in her direction. "I'll have the same," he added.

When the drink arrived, Meryl stared down into the glass for a long time. Too long.

"Thanks," she said finally, taking a deep breath before turning. Vash smiled comfortably at her, so clearly _not_ himself, playing this new character as easily as he played the lunatic or the Humanoid Typhoon, that Meryl thought she might actually be able to do the same. She leaned one elbow on the bar and smiled back as she tapped her fingers on the rim of the glass. "What'll it cost me?"

He shrugged. "Conversation. Maybe a dance." Meryl glanced briefly around the room while he knocked back his drink.

"There's no music," she pointed out. He smiled again and slid off the tall bar stool toward her, landing on his feet near enough that she could smell a faint whiff of borrowed cologne.

"Then maybe we go somewhere else," he suggested. The gloved fingers of his left hand rested lightly on her wrist, encouraging her to finish the whiskey. She did, and he dropped a few double-dollars on the bar before putting a hand at the small of her back to guide her out of the saloon.

As soon as they left the building the cold night air bit almost painfully at Meryl's skin. The dress she wore was just a scrap of thin silk that left her shoulders and legs bare and she shivered. A moment later he had wrapped the suit jacket around her body and she looked up in surprise. He was wearing one of his own button-up shirts underneath and it fit him exactly the way the jacket hadn't, in a smooth line across his shoulders and down along his arms. A quick glance down over the rest of his body revealed a bulge in his pants that hadn't been noticeable before, hidden by the jacket. She raised an eyebrow playfully.

"It that a gun in your pocket?" she asked. "Or are you just happy to—"

"It's a gun," he assured her with a smile, drawing a familiar revolver. She realized he wasn't wearing his holster, so the pants pocket was really the only available option. Even playing this role, Vash wouldn't leave his gun behind.

Meryl gritted her teeth, determined not to even  _think_ his name.

"You know how to use that thing?" she asked, hurrying to pick up where she had left off in their little game of pretend.

He paused momentarily, looking thoughtful.  "Are we still talking about the gun?"

She laughed. "For now," she told him. "Are you a good shot?"

"I'm okay," he allowed, giving a casual shrug. "Want to try your hand at it?"

She grinned broadly, trying to speak before he could stop her. "Are we still—"

"The _gun,_ " he said, mock-exasperated.

Meryl affected a brief, worried hesitation that anyone else in her position would certainly feel. Glancing down at the revolver, she asked, "Is it safe?"

"Have you never fired a gun before?" he asked, curiously.

"Of course not!" she lied, faking shock at the implication.

He smiled at her and moved near enough to pull the suit jacket closed across her chest, fastening the top button before pulling her forward by the lapels until she had to brace herself on his arms or risk colliding with his chest. "Don't worry," he told her, softly. "You're safe with me."

She felt her face flush but he stepped back before she could say or do anything. Then he grinned and took her hand—with his right,  _real_ hand—and pulled her along behind him. Her heart raced and ached all at once just to feel something so _normal_ as two people holding hands. His fingers were warm in hers and if Meryl didn't think too hard she might not be able to feel all the damage that clearly marked the skin there as Vash's—as _his_.

He led her to the edge of town, far from the main streets, where an aging wooden fence marked the fragile boundary between civilization and desert. From the detritus at their feet it looked like a local haunt for some smokers and their drinking buddies, with cigarette butts and shattered beer bottles scattered around at random. He started digging around in the sand near a fence post with the toe of his boot—he still wore _his_ boots, she noticed—until he found something that warranted an excited, "Ah- _ha!_ "

He had unearthed a few unbroken beer bottles and now he held three in one hand, each slender bottleneck tucked between two of his long fingers as he hopped the fence and jogged out into the desert ten yarz or so. In the dim moonslight she could see him trying (unsuccessfully) to balance the bottles on a knee-high sand dune.

"Just bury them a few iches," she called, laughing.

"But then there's no _way_ you could hit them!" he argued.

Meryl was glad he was too far away to see the flicker of pain she knew had flashed in her eyes. He knewshe could hit them. How was he so good at pretending?

"That's what _you_ think," she said, trying to sound both coy and stubborn.

He returned to the fence and grinned down at her as he climbed over the wood railing again. "If you say so." He drew the revolver again and offered it to her.

She crossed her arms. "Go on, then," she said, jerking her chin towards the bottles waiting out in the desert. "Show me how it's done."

"Why not?" He gave an exaggerated shrug, flinging up his hands without turning. The gun went off mid-shrug and glass shattered in the distance. She could barely see moonslight glinting on the remains of the bottle as the broken neck rolled slowly down the sand dune.

"Show-off," she muttered.

He shrugged again, a smaller gesture this time. "I'm okay," he allowed, smiling.

"Give me the gun," she demanded, hands-on-hips. When he handed it over, Meryl's eyebrows rose automatically. She had forgotten how heavy it was...

_Except you've never held a gun, remember?_

She turned quickly to face the desert and hefted the revolver in both hands, standing stiffly at the fence with her feet and shoulders square to her target. "Like this?"

He stood so close behind her that she could feel the heat from his body at her back. He wrapped his arms loosely around her, reaching forward with one hand to help steady the gun. She didn't need the help, but she let him hold some of the weight anyway. The toe of his boot hooked her right ankle and pulled her foot backwards, sliding across the sand until she stood in something more resembling a half-decent shooting stance. Meryl had been ready for it, but any other woman probably wouldn't be; she faked a startled noise and pretended to lose her balance. His other hand moved to her waist to steady her and he stepped closer until his chest was pressed solidly to her spine. Even through his shirt and the suit jacket she wore, she could feel the metal plates over his heart digging into her shoulder. She tried to ignore it.

"Like this," he told her, bending down to murmur in her ear. She shivered. When his hands pulled the front of the jacket open again and slipped inside, leaving nothing between his fingers and her skin but a thin layer of silk, she let out a shuddering breath and tried to look back over her shoulder. His lips brushed her cheek as she turned and she pulled the trigger reflexively. There was a sound of breaking glass in the distance and he paused, hands gone suddenly still.

"Beginner's luck?" she offered, breathless. One of his hands squeezed her waist while the other reached up and pulled the jacket collar down off her shoulder. He pressed his mouth firmly, purposefully, to the side of her neck and she had to lower the revolver so he could strip the jacket away.

Earlier she had been cold in the night air but now even the chilling breeze blowing in from the open desert couldn't keep her from burning up under his hands. His fingers curled over her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest for a moment as spoke the next words into her hair: "Try again."

She raised the gun, noting that her grip was less steady now. His mouth was moving along her neck and his hands traced the lines of her body, following the the curve of her waist and hips until he found the short hem of her dress. He pressed his fingertips into her skin and dragged his hands slowly up the length of her thighs, carrying the silk with him to bunch up around her hips. When his fingers met the lace trim of her panties he hesitated, just for an instant, before it was his _left_ hand that followed the line of thin fabric across the front of her thigh and down between her legs.

She couldn't quite swallow a gasp at the slight pressure he put there, his fingers gently tracing the shape of her through the lace. Heat flared deep in her gut and she wondered if he could feel the sudden new slickness at his fingertips.

"Are you trying to distract me?" she asked, and her voice wavered more than she would have liked. She swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the revolver. He bit gently at her shoulder as his fingers pushed aside the lace and rested _just there,_ barely touching, just teasing, waiting...

"Is it working?" he murmured, in response. She pulled the trigger again and the last bottle shattered to pieces in the darkness.

" _Try harder._ "

Two long fingers slid up deeply inside her and she gasped, feeling her body tightening around him reflexively. The revolver fell to the ground and she curled forward, gripping the fence railing with both hands. The leather covering his prosthetic fingers was warm and soft and for a moment some small part of Meryl's mind wondered if he was too afraid to touch her with the scarred skin of his right hand. Then she didn't care _which_ fingers they were, as long as they kept stroking her, long and slow and deep, until it was too much and she stood there shaking with his hand clamped tightly between her thighs.

His toe hooked her ankle again and spread her feet wide so he could step between her legs and bend forward over her, pulling her tightly to his chest with his right arm. She felt him hot and hard at her back and he groaned, biting her shoulder more forcefully than before. His fingers drove deep and curled forward, reaching somewhere that made her knees go weak and coaxed a cry of pleasure unwillingly from her lips.

The arm around her ribs squeezed _hard,_ almost painfully, as he fought for breath behind her. His voice rumbled low in his chest, asking desperately, "Can I—"

"Yes," she gasped, nodding fervently into the darkness. " _Yes._ "

When his hands left her body she nearly collapsed, clutching at the fence for support. She could hear the soft sounds of belt buckle and zipper behind her and when he shoved her dress up onto her waist again and gripped her hips, Meryl thought, _It's better this way. I don't have to see his face..._

He drove himself up inside her in one quick movement and she cried out again, this time in a brief yelp of pain. She hadn't expected so great a size difference between them, though she realized now she should have _—he's over six feet tall, for christ's sake..._ She closed her eyes and tried to relax, focusing on that sweet friction building between them as he pulled away slowly and thrust in again.

She was glad he didn't stop to ask if he had hurt her. She knew he would have, if he was _him._ But he was too good at pretending.

He rocked his hips forward as he pulled hers back toward him, meeting each time with that sound of skin striking skin with almost bruising force. It seemed so _loud_ , even over his heavy breaths and the short, gasping moans that left her lips now. He slowed momentarily and pushed her dress up higher so he could put his hands almost fully around her waist. She felt the rough scars on his right palm scraping against her skin as he pulled her back along his length again and she shivered, trying to convince herself it wasn't _him._

As if he had read her mind, that right hand withdrew from her skin and settled between her shoulder blades, leaving the thin silk as a barrier between them. She let him push her down, bent more sharply at the waist, and they both made soft, pleasurable noises of approval at this new angle. She closed her eyes again and lost herself in that exquisite feeling of him moving inside her and wondered if this could have been her, in another life. Meeting a stranger at a bar, wandering off for a meaningless fuck in the dark. It wouldn't be so bad...

He abruptly changed pace, gripping her hips again to thrust more quickly, more roughly. Each movement brought more and more of that intense heat building inside her, ready to release in an all-consuming rush of pleasure. She could tell he was close to coming apart, too; his breath was growing ragged and he bent forward, moving over her fast and hard until he finally shuddered to a halt, buried deeply inside her, with a harsh cry that rang out into the night and threatened to echo forever in her ears:

 _"Meryl..._ _"_

Her own climax came just a moment later, but that blissful release that she should have felt, that she _deserved_ to feel _,_  was lost to the sickening stab of pain in her chest as she screamed,  _"No!"_

Meryl spun around and shoved Vash away. He staggered back, bewildered and out of breath, with the pants down around his ankles threatening to trip him with every step.

"No!" she shouted again, and she realized she was crying. "This was supposed to be—you can't have _me,_ that's not _fair!_ "

Vash hurriedly pulled his pants up over his hips again and stepped forward, looking confused and worried as he reached out for her. "Meryl, wait, I don't—"

"Stop it!" she sobbed, clapping both hands over her ears. " _Stop saying my name!_ "

She watched his lips trace the words, " _I'm sorry,_ " and he truly looked it. There was a pain in his eyes that she had seen too many times in the past, but she didn't know why Vash would be hurt _now._

Meryl slid down to sit on the ground with her back to the fence post. She brought her knees up to her chest and wept, shutting her eyes tight to block out Vash in every way possible.

"You were supposed to pretend _,_ " she said, hearing her own words muffled through the hands she still held pressed over her ears. "Pretend you're not a hundred years old and leaving me in the middle of the night, _forever_. Pretend I'm not just a wholly forgettable blip on your stupid, immortal timeline. You were supposed to _pretend..._ "

Vash gripped her wrists and pulled her hands from her ears. She finally met his eye as he knelt in front of her and stared down with that awful _pain_ still clearly etched into every line of his face. "Is _that_ what you think?" he asked. "Mer—"

He bit off the end of her name, wincing, and looked at her like he was afraid she would start screaming again.

"When I said I wished things were different, I meant I wish _I_  was different," said Vash. His voice was strained, like he was fighting tears, too. "I wish I hadn't lived a hundred years of horror that left me like this. I wish I didn't have a price on my head, I wish I wasn't the monster they all see in me. I wish I was any other man, with any other life."

Vash took her face in his hands and Meryl touched his chest through the thin shirt. When he kissed her, it was almost too much for her aching heart to bear.

"I wish I could be what you want," he whispered into her lips. "I wish I could be _him._ "

Meryl burst into tears again and leaned forward to bury her face in his neck and suddenly something was  _broken_ inside her and it made her want to say something so _terrible,_ and it wasn't what she wanted and it would hurt so much more than if she just let him walk away but she couldn't stop herself and the words came out of her mouth in a desperate rush.

"Then pretend you are," she begged. "Just for a little while."

Vash froze, stiffening against her. "Please don't ask that," he whispered. " _Please._ "

"Just _pretend..._ "

After a few tense moments, Vash pulled away and sat back on his heels, burying his face in hands both real and prosthetic. He was utterly silent but his shoulders were shaking and Meryl thought maybe something had broken inside him, too. Then he stood, dragging Meryl abruptly back up to her feet, pulling her close to kiss her mouth with none of the desperate sadness that had consumed them earlier. This was wild and passionate and his arms were around her back, holding her tightly against his chest. Meryl slid her hands up into his hair and moaned into his mouth.

 _T_ _his_ was what she wanted. This was _Vash_ , or the Vash he _could_ be, if he was _hers_. He was so good at pretending he could probably make her believe it. She wanted him to touch her skin as _Vash;_ she wanted to touch his skin a hundred times over. She reached for the button at his collar but he caught her wrists and drew back.

"Not here," he told her, shaking his head. Meryl didn't really care _where_ , but when the fingers of his right hand laced through hers again she let herself feel every ancient scar she had tried to ignore before. Vash tugged her along in his wake as he raced back to the saloon, taking the stairs two at a time in his hurry, leaving Meryl struggling to follow until he just scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his room.

The door slammed shut behind them and Vash put Meryl down on her feet. He bent to kiss her and they had their hands on each other again in moments, grasping desperately at clothing and hair and skin as they stumbled toward the bed in the corner. Meryl fell back onto the mattress and Vash followed after, landing on his elbows to keep from crushing her.

She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down, moaning appreciatively when Vash let some of his weight rest on her body, pressing her into the mattress as he kissed her soundly. His mouth moved down over her neck and Meryl gave a soft sigh of pleasure, letting her head fall back as she felt his lips travel across her skin until they met the low neckline of her dress.

Vash abruptly slid an arm around her waist and lifted her body from the bed, rolling onto his back and carrying her with him until she lay on his chest. Meryl felt his fingers undo the clasp at the back of the dress, tugging the zipper down between her shoulder blades, and she sat up on her knees to let Vash slide the silk garment up the length of her body and off over her head and arms. When his hands touched the small of her back and slid up either side of her spine, she didn't shy away from the rough skin of his right palm and she bent over his chest again as his fingers curled over her shoulders and he drew her down into another passionate kiss.

He buried his hands in her hair and Meryl fumbled blindly at the buttons of his shirt. Eventually she had to draw back from the kiss and focus all her attention on the damnable fastenings, too eager to manage any real finesse. When she finally had the shirt open, Meryl tried to push it down over Vash's shoulders and he sat up to help her pull his arms free of the long sleeves. The left cuff got caught on the wrist of his prosthetic arm and Vash growled and yanked it free. Meryl heard the button skitter away across the floor somewhere.

Vash lay flat on the mattress again and let out a long, shaky breath beneath her. Meryl felt his fingers tighten on her hips as she finally put her hands on his body. She touched his shoulders, smoothing her palms across their full breadth. She touched his arms, feeling both flesh and metal warm under her hands. She touched his chest, tracing every scar with the very tips of her fingers and caressing all the damage a century of life on this godawful planet had wrought into his skin.

Meryl felt a fierce stab of anger, at everyone and anyone who had ever thought this man a monster. Anyone who had cursed him or condemned him or caused him the slightest pain, when he deserved none of their hatred or misplaced vengeance. When he fought so desperately for love and peace in this wretched world...

Vash touched her chin and Meryl looked up, startled. When she met his gaze, there was just the ghost of a smile on his lips and Meryl thought somehow he must have known what she was thinking, because he murmured, "It's okay. _I'm_ okay."

She nodded, and when she bent to kiss him again Vash's hands moved over her skin with the same gentle caresses she had shown him. If Meryl closed her eyes she couldn't tell which fingers were real and which were prosthetic and she didn't _care,_ because it was _Vash,_ and the pleasure of his touch was almost _unbearable._

She was shivering and gasping and she let Vash roll her onto her back again, running his hands down her sides to hook his fingers in the lace trim of her panties. Heat flared everywhere in Meryl's body and she lifted her hips to help Vash strip them away. He crawled up the bed to settle over her and Meryl reached for the front of his pants, her fingers hurriedly undoing buckle and fly and slipping past to wrap her hand around him.

Vash gripped her shoulders and buried his face in her neck, moaning as Meryl stroked the full length of him. He was all soft, smooth skin, hot and hard under her palm until Vash was making desperate gasping noises into her skin. She pushed the belt down over his hips and felt Vash kicking off his boots before helping her to remove the pants entirely.

Meryl pulled him down to meet her and she was so ready for him that Vash slid inside with little resistance. He was still for a long moment, eyes closed, and when he began to move in her Meryl hooked her knees over his hips and pulled him in even more deeply. Vash kissed her passionately, muffling a groan into her mouth.

She gripped Vash's shoulders and moved with him until they found a comfortable rhythm, a slow pace that left time for gentle kisses and quiet affirmations between gasping breaths and soft sighs.

Vash pulled her hands from his skin and pressed them down into the mattress near her shoulders, lacing his fingers with hers and putting the slightest pressure there as he held himself above her. Meryl tightened her grip on his fingers and the familiar feeling of flesh against her left hand contrasted with the rigid metal pressed to her right palm. The fingers there were uniformly solid and unyielding, but Vash's prosthetic hand held hers in the same gentle grasp she felt on her left.

Soft, wordless sounds of pleasure were escaping her lips in time with Vash's movements inside her, and Meryl was overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of the experience. It was all tender kisses and gentle embracing and utmost passion; everything that their earlier desperate fuck _wasn't_.

Heat was building inside her again, swelling in a great wave that threatened to escape at any moment. Meryl closed her eyes, trying to hold it in, hold it back, until Vash could come with her.

She didn't have long to wait: Vash was so close to climax that he was struggling to maintain the pace they had set together. His movements were less careful, less deliberate, more frantic and urgent as he neared his end.

"Say it now," Meryl whispered. She wanted him to finish with her name on his lips again, this time to finish as _himself,_ with _her_. "Say it, _now_."

 _"Meryl,"_ he gasped, shivering in his release. She clung to his shoulders, feeling scarred skin and metal implants under her palms, knowing it was undeniably _Vash_ in her arms. He kept moving in her, managing a few more desperate thrusts before all the tension could escape his body, and she whimpered his name as that wave of pleasure finally crested and washed over her, leaving her trembling beneath him.

Now Vash could barely hold himself steady above her, shaking and panting for breath as his eyes met hers. All the hard lines of his face had softened and Meryl looked up at him, thinking, _This could be him. This could be the man I love._

He kissed her gently and collapsed at her side, threading the fingers of his right hand through the short hair at the back of her neck as together they caught their breath again. His thumb brushed across her cheek and he pressed a swift kiss to the very tip of her nose. Meryl let out a soft chuckle and Vash grinned at her, his clear green eyes sparkling in the dim moonslight. She reached out to trace the line of his jaw and tried to pretend that it wasn't the last time she would ever see his face like this. That he wouldn't be gone when she woke up.

"Tell me you'll stay the night," she said, impulsively. Vash's grin faltered and she saw that familiar _pain_ in his eyes again.

"Meryl, I—"

"No, just... _say_ it," she whispered. "Just for pretend."

For a long moment Vash's expression was something entirely unreadable, but then he smiled softly at her and when he promised, "I'll make you breakfast in the morning," Meryl could almost believe it.

She gave him a sad smile in return and when she closed her eyes Vash drew her into his arms. They lay together in silence for a long time, and Meryl knew she should just curl up there at his side and fall asleep so he could leave. But something selfish and shameful was gnawing at her insides and it tried to claw its way up her throat and out of her mouth. A half-strangled, " _Pretend,_ " escaped her lips, but Meryl clamped her mouth shut tight on the rest, unwilling to let it out.

"Hmm?" Vash said, sleepily. He shifted under her, drawing back enough to meet her eye with a curious expression. Meryl just shook her head and buried her face in his chest.

"Nothing," she whispered. "Forget it."

"What is it?" he asked, softly. Vash pulled away again until he could see her face. "Please."

Meryl hesitated, and now the words _wouldn't_ come. "Pretend..." She couldn't even look him in the eye, and her voice wavered, barely suppressing tears. Eventually she managed to say it, but it came as even less than a whisper: _"Pretend you love me."_

Vash touched her chin to pull her gaze back up to his, and though he looked at her sadly there was something  _else_ in his eyes that she couldn't quite name, and when he left a trail of soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck and spoke the words into her skin, over and over again, _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ Meryl didn't know what to believe anymore.

He was _so_ good at pretending...


End file.
